


The Dragon Gates

by IcestormTundra



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Badass Gertrude Robinson, Basira just wanted a degree, But you won't see any of it because I can't, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Wyrms, Daisy and Jon will become best friends and you can't stop me, Dragon!Daisy, Dragon!Gertrude, Dragon!Jon, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Evil books that do evil things and some morally questionable ones, Explosions, Featuring a city of nonsense designed by the Spiral, Featuring me battling with AO3s interface, Forcing Jon to have a single willing social interaction that isn't centred around info-dumping, I should probably make a map for this, I'll add more as I go, Inspired by The End of The Fucking World, Multi, No beta we die like Gertrudes assistants, Pagan allegories, Timothy Stoker being the life and soul of the party, martin writes poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcestormTundra/pseuds/IcestormTundra
Summary: On the top of a hill, in the centre of the Twisting City lies the Great Library. Its pointed spires scraped the bellies of clouds on rainy days, and by night travellers used its lights as a beacon to navigate. Within in halls lies a thousand years of history and knowledge, studied and protected by draconic scholars and those under their tutelage. Rarely seen, the dragons of the Eye bear witness to the world and record all that they see.But something is not right within the Library. An eye opens, bloodshot and hungry, and history is about to repeat itself.Or "I wanted to turn half the tma characters into dragons for fun and created an overly complicated au to make it happen". Seriously the amount of world building that went into making this have any semblance of sense and reason is a little overwhelming, but I hope you all enjoy the ride.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. The Library

There was no map in the world that could confine the Twisting City to a page.

The City of Welk as it was officially called lay nestled in the fertile crescent behind the Cirrus Mountains and split in twain by the river Wen. Within its rickety walls, narrow roads split off into narrower lanes. Many were closed off, pinched shut by the ever-growing, tumbledown houses. Wooden tunnels had been cut through some of the older buildings to accommodate. Down the market way strange smells wafted out from behind closed doors draped in drying herbs and cloves of garlic. In the paper factories the mills churned pulp day and night for the book trade. Warehouses lined the riverside, where people bound books and copied scrolls and loaded them onto boats to be delivered downstream.

  
  


Everything was squashed together. Homes and shops were built haphazardly over a hundred generations, and without room left to build laterally, later craftsmen simply built up . New layers of housing were constructed directly on top of the old, with ramps and hanging bridges strung between them.

  
  


But even the tallest houses held no candle to the Great Library, which stood high and dry atop a hillock in the cities' epicentre. Its pointed spires scraped the bellies of clouds on rainy days, and by night travellers used its lights as a beacon to navigate. It was the pride and joy of Welk. Old, yet structurally sound, it housed over a thousand scholars some said with hushed voices. Descendants from the days of carnage, when the Powers That Be still fought for dominion over the continent and refugees from the Sightless Isle found shelter in the Twisting City.

  
  


Now though it was a place of calm and study. The stone walls impeccably maintained and its grounds awash in rose gardens and citrus. Compared to the rest of Welk it stood out like a victoria sponge on a plate full of mud pies. 

  
  


It was a small wonder that the rest of the Twisting City held its shape at all, though some suspected magic was involved. With no oversight, the layout of the city had gradually become a tangled mess of loops and turns, untraversable to any but the locals.

  
  


And even the locals had trouble.

  
  


Basira, a local, was sitting inside the Great Library high up in one of the spires, looking out of a huge window framed with stained glass. Outside was dark. The firefly lamps along the roads had been tended to, casting the city in long, strange shadows as darkness fell. 

  
  


A glass quill shook in her hand, hovering over a plain parchment simply titled 'A birds eye view of the City of Welk' in beautiful calligraphy. The rough pencil sketch of the map had already been completed, looking awfully flat and misshapen compared to the insane human constructions they were made to represent.

  
  


Basira made a noise of disapproval and cleaned the tip of her quill with a loose rag, before replacing it in its box.

  
  


Inking the map could wait until morning, she decided firmly. The current draft had taken several months of painstaking work to complete, and the thought of a careless drop of ink staining the page  _ where it wasn't supposed to _ , made her sick to her stomach.

  
  


She carefully packed away her inks inside of their case and locked it shut. Shouldering a bag full of scrolls (subjects ranging from cartography to geology) and bracing the case against her chest, she descended the spiral staircase.

  
  


The walk back to her dorm took her through the main hall, dimly lit by firefly chandeliers and decorated with dark, varnished wood. The reception desk was empty again. An unorganised mess of food wrappers and paints littered its surface. A note sat smartly at the front, and read 'Please don't need anything' in friendly cursive letters. 

  
  


Basira dropped her scrolls on the desk and rang the bell. There was a sound, like someone waking up sharply from deep sleep, followed by some grumbling. A door opened to the right and a young man with long black hair shambled out blearily rubbing his eyes.

  
  


“Hello Gerry, sorry to wake you.” Basira opened curtly.

  
  


“No you’re not," Gerry replied, moving to stand behind the desk, "What do you need?”

  
  


“I’d like to check out these scrolls.”

  
  


“That all? You don't want me to spend three hours looking for a book, only to find you remembered the name wrong and that it was sitting on my desk the whole time?” Gerry offered sarcastically with a knowing smile. 

  
  


“That only happened once I-” Basira cut herself off, “You know what, never mind, just these thanks.”

  
  


“Huh, shame.” Gerry reached for the scrolls and began stamping them

  
  


There was a quiet moment before Basira asked “How's the painting going?”

“Slow, same as last time you asked. I finished the one with the eye...”

  
  


“I think I saw that one, the detail on it was amazing. Are you going to hang it up?”

  
  


“Maybe. If I feel like it. It could be useful.” He pushed the scrolls towards her “Anything else you need?”

  
  


“No, thank you. Have a nice night Gerry." 

  
  


Gerry just hummed and started rooting through the rubbish on his desk. He picked up an unopened wrapper and slouched back in his chair. "Yeah, you too.”

  
  


Basira just nodded and took her leave.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


The students kept their quarters in the library's first floor, alongside the kitchen staff and servants. Human professors, of which there were five, had theirs in the pinnacle of the lowest tower. The rest of the vast Library was the domain of dragon scholars and their work. 

  
  


How many dragons called the Library home Basira wasn't sure. She had never seen one in person despite living in the Library for several years. She knew what they studied, which was to say everything , but the scholars themselves were a complete mystery.

  
  


Their apprentices on the other hand were far more numerous and easy to locate. Gerry had been her first. They had met only a few days after she had moved in, and he had offered to show her around the common areas of the Library. The place had seemed even bigger on the inside, so much so that the tour had left her mind reeling and wondering how she would ever learn her way around. But she had learnt, and they had remained close since then, or at least as close as his tutor would allow.

  
  


He hadn’t told her who he was apprenticed to of course, the names of dragons were never freely given, but he had given her a tantalizing glance into the life she so desperately worked towards.

  
  


For as long as Basira could remember it had been her dream to study alongside dragons and their kin. The draw of so much knowledge, and the things she would be able to do with that knowledge had sent her daydreaming down tangents many, many times. Magic might not have been real, but draconic knowledge was as close to it as any human could get. Dragons were close enough to the Powers That Be that such things came naturally to them after all. The road for humans was of course more complicated, and required an excess dedication and passion; traits Basira lived to embody. 

  
  


It had been enough of a draw to call her out of her childhood home, and move into the Library full-time at only eighteen years of age. Now, three years and more sleepless nights than she could count later, she was nearly there. If her project impressed a dragon enough to inspire them to take her on as an apprentice that was. Otherwise, well, it was back to the drawing board.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


Basira reached her dorm and quietly closed the door behind her, careful not to wake any of the other students. They may have each had separate rooms, but the heavy wooden doors were liable to slam, and pissing off sleep-deprived students was a poor choice she had learnt not to take.

  
  


Her room was sparsely decorated and impeccably neat. One wall opened onto a small balcony, with long, thick blue curtains drawn tightly shut to keep out the cold. There were bookshelves of course, most of which were buckling under the weight of their load, and a writing desk adorned with stacks of notes and inksets, all carefully organised. 

  
  


The bedsheets were crisp and white, and the mantlepiece polished free of dust. Something about this place simply defied dust and grime. Even in the kitchen dishes never needed to be washed, the staff simply piled dirty crockery high and left it overnight, only to find them spotless and tidied away come morning. It had taken Basira some getting used to, coming from a home where chores took up most of her day, but the extra time it allowed for study had been a welcome relief. Nowadays though she hardly noticed it at all.

  
  


Basira threw her bag down and collapsed on her bed, and reached forward to remove the cover from her lamp, letting the greenish glow of the fireflies light up her room. It was peaceful, watching them buzz around the glass cylinder, and she found herself starting to slip away into an easy sleep.

She was just about to give in and get an early night's rest, when she heard a swoosh coming from the balcony outside. Forcing herself to sit back up, she walked over to the curtains and pulled them open.

  
  


A young woman stood just outside, dusting herself off. Her face split into a huge grin upon seeing Basira, her scars curling around her cheeks.

  
  


“Daisy!” Basira cried, rushing forward to pull her friend into a crushing hug “Where on Earth have you been? I haven’t seen you in days!”

  
  


“Oh here and there,” Daisy returned the hug with just as much vigor “Getting ready for the solstice festival, my old partner has had me preparing the stall for when the tourists start flocking in.”

  
  


“Mmhmm because that’s what the festival goers want to buy, skins. ”

  
  


“Don’t you start, festival season is what keeps our little business afloat,” Daisy said, giving Basira a light punch on the shoulder. “You are coming right?”

  
  


“If I finish up my project in time, yes.”

  
  


“Of course you will, the deadlines the day before isn’t it?”

  
  


“And what if I need an extension?”

  
  


“You won’t. Besides it’s not like you’ve got much left to do.”

  
  


“You say that but-”

  
  


“No buts, you’re coming. I’m not having you sitting inside moping while everyone else is out having fun. This only comes once a year, you deserve to have a day off.” 

  
  


Basira folded her arms and gave Daisy a look, “If it was up to you all my days would be days off.” 

  
  


“You saying that’s a bad thing?” Daisy’s grin was contagious. She waltzed past Basira and plonked herself down heavily on the chair by her desk, kicking her feet up. “I’m guessing you’ve been working on it all day?”

  
  


“I finished the final sketch,” Basira confirmed, moving to sit beside her on the bed. “It doesn’t look as good as I’d hoped…”

  
  


“Let’s see?” Daisy didn’t wait for an answer before she reached into her friend's bag and pulled out the map. “Basira this looks great!”

  
  


Basira folded her arms and sat down on the bed opposite. “Hmm, I hope the scholars agree.”

  
  


“I’m serious! I can actually read it, look see that’s the main market road, here’s where they’re building the harvest shrine, right next to where I've been hammering nails all day. Honestly there’s quite a lot of building ‘round there, the clay workers have really outdone themselves this year.”

  
  


Basira felt her shoulders slip in relief. “That’s right. Do you really think it’ll pass?”

  
  


“Basira you’ve just made the first working map I've ever seen of this place, of course it will. Now, are we going out for drinks or not?”

  
  


“Sure, just let me tidy myself up first.” Basira rose from the bed and made her way over to her wardrobe, rummaging through her options and taking the opportunity to rearrange her headscarf.

  
  


Daisy’s eyes followed her, quiet and intense. "The yellow suits you," she commented gently. 

  
  


Basira ran her fingers over a sunset yellow cloak. The material was thick, yet had a softness to it gained from years of love and wear. She pulled out from its hanger and draped it over her arm "I'll trust your word on it," she said with a tentative smile. 

  
  


Daisy smiled back, and Basira felt the all too familiar flutter in her chest. Gods why did she have to have dimples ? She slung the cloak over her shoulders and fastened it in place with a pin. 

  
  


She felt an arm sling itself across her shoulder and looked down to see Daisy pinning a small decorative broach where she had just fitted the cloak. "I was going to wait till you'd graduated but let's be honest, you've got it in the bag.”

  
  


Basira stared at the tiny golden dragon now emblazoned on her shoulder, and reached up to gently stroke its smooth shimmering wings, "Daisy I- it's beautiful, you didn't have to.”

  
  


"Yeah but I wanted to, no returns!”

  
  


"I wasn't going to, I love it already,” Basira felt a grin sneaking its way onto her lips “first round’s on me though."

  
  


"Now you're talking! Come on I know a good place."

  
  


Basira slipped her hand into Daisy's and let her lead the way. She was acutely aware of the warmth spreading out from where Daisy had pinned the broach, and the gentle grip of her warm, calloused hand. Her hands were scarred too she realised, the small silvery lines across her thumb and fingers were like incomplete rings. She wondered, not for the first time, where she had gotten them all. She felt like she could trace her entire history just through her scars.

  
  


They kept holding hands even as Basira turned to shut the door behind her, letting it close with a soft click. 

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


Martin K Blackwood really did like his job. Sort of. Well he did sometimes anyway. He enjoyed writing poetry, and binding books had its own charm if you ignored the long hours, sharp needle pricks and tangled threads. But overall it wasn't the worst job in the world. 

  
  


He just hadn't expected there to be so much travelling involved.

  
  


Martin sat with his back resting on several rattling crates of freshly bound books. There were more, both to his right and left, leaving him uncomfortably little room at the back of an already cramped wagon. Craning his neck he could see the ox pulling it, tirelessly trundling along and flicking its tail at the flies that followed. It was one of those big shaggy ones with majestic horns and a fringe that hung low over its large brown eyes. A proper good cow from up north. It reminded him of home.

  
  


He leaned back, sighed through his nose and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him to fight the chill. At least there wasn’t much further to go, he could see the silhouette of the Great Library staring over the horizon now.

  
  


They were following the traveller’s road; a paved and well-guarded route that linked the far reaches to the north, all the way down to the Burning Towers in the south. It had been constructed collaboratively after the days of carnage, by every Power and its allies, designed to encourage trade and avoid the violence and bloodshed that had dominated previously. All things considered it had worked pretty well. It was unlikely an appreciation for poetry would have reached Martin's hometown otherwise; those from the Lonely Bay were not known for their gifts in the arts after all. But fishing had never been Martins forte either. Easy come easy go, as they say.

  
  


The traveller’s road had an offshoot that stopped just outside the Twisting City, close to Western Street, one of the few cobbled roads the city boasted. The cobbles were maintained only on those roads that lead in and out of the city, of which there were four. They converged in the centre forming a ring around the Library like an iris around the city's pupil.

  
  


They had been made to keep travellers from getting lost, Martin had heard. He remembered the tales of bards (as few as they were in the domain of the Lonely) who recited stories of merchants that tried to swindle the patrons of the Twisting City, only to be driven mad and left to wander the streets alone forever.

As far as Martin knew those were just tall tales, but he wasn't planning on pushing his luck and finding out the hard way. 

  
  


The vast majority of his cargo was an order from the Library itself; apparently the Scholars had a taste for poetry too. Only one box was for his own luggage. The final two were his own stock, which he was planning to sell during the solstice celebrations.

  
  


He supposed he should have formally thanked the scholars for their offer of hospitality, as it was what afforded him the trip in the first place. There was no way his meagre earnings printing poetry in the far north would have been able to pay for either the travel costs or accommodation. But some interest in his work must have permeated south enough for a scholar to take notice and put in an order, alongside an extensive list of other works they wanted copies of. Many he was able to source cheaply, alleviating the burden of writing them all out by hand. Others he had copies already printed and stored away; mostly his own writings. A few had proven more difficult. One, especially so. 

  
  


However the monthly payments for his work were well over triple what he was used to, and with expenses to travel subsidised and the offer to stay in the Library for a month on top, during festival season no less! Well, Martin wasn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

  
  


He just really wished the City had been closer to home.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


The spire leered down at him as Martin stumbled stiffly out of the wagon on shaking legs. His cases were strewn about him in an unorganised heap around the courtyard, where they had been haphazardly unpacked by the driver, and the huge doorway at the base of the spire was bolted firmly shut. He looked around awkwardly, straining to see if anyone was about who he could ask for directions, or help, or just about anything really. Of course there was no one, and he was left twiddling his thumbs uncomfortably, unsure of where to go.

  
  


After a couple moments he decided that doing something was better than doing nothing, and walked over to the door and gave it a good rattle. The door shook a little in its frame but stood steadfast, and Martin scratched his head in confusion as he turned and watched as the wagon slowly wheeled away leaving him stranded.

  
  


For a long while he just stood there, running his fingers through his curly hair and trying to work out what he could do. From where he was standing he could see far out over the city, all the way to the crumbling perimeter wall. The old guard towers were mostly in ruin and blackened by ancient dragon fire, half melted and frozen in place. Which dragons had fire again? He couldn't quite remember, but judging by the strange shaped lamps filled with buzzing flies that lined every street and outside every shop, the dragons of the Spiral and the Eye weren't among them. It made sense he supposed, to minimise the risk of a fire in a city that was so painstakingly flammable, and relied so heavily on the book trade.

  
  


Turning back to his luggage he straightened up and braced himself, and put his hands on his hips. He’d best get started, no point standing around wool-gathering. Muttering a quiet “Right,” to no one in particular, he began dragging the boxes over to the doorway. The first two he managed without much of a struggle, but by box five he could feel the sweat beginning to permeate through his clothes as they stuck uncomfortably to his skin. The boxes were monstrously heavy, and he realised with creeping dread that there was no way he’d be able to drag them all the way around to another entrance without help. Another quick glance at the horizon told him that rain was on its way, he’d have to hurry.

  
  


Finally he had them all under the cover of the porch, just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. Martin looked back up at the doorway in desperation, and without even thinking reached up to knock.

  
  


It swung quietly open with a creak before his fist even connected. Peering inside he could see it led to a dimly lit room, decorated with dark, varnished wood and lined with high bookcases, buckling and groaning under the weight of thousands of books. The floor was made of a similar dark, paneled wood, dotted with threadbare rugs of immense detail and dizzying spiral patterns. The firefly lamps lit the room with a greenish tinge, and Martin could hear the rhythmic tapping and buzzing of the insects inside the glass.

  
  


Cautiously he took a step inside. The room was quiet and empty, save for the insects. Tucked away in a back corner a couple of plush sofas and large pillows surrounded a small wooden coffee table, also stacked high with even more books. Curiously he walked over and reached for the cover of the nearest one, its title in a language Martin couldn’t read. His fingers stroked the old, cracked leather of its binding, feeling the soft wrinkles and picking out its imperfections with a practised eye. Looking down at his fingers he noticed they were clean and free from dust. ‘Someone must have put this here recently,’ he realised with a wave of relief. That was good, it meant someone would likely be along shortly and he could ask them where he needed to go to drop off the boxes. Which meant he should probably bring them inside...

  
  


Trudging back outside he began dragging the boxes in through the door, wincing as they bumped and scraped the dark wooden floorboards, leaving shallow gouges where the cases were particularly rough. He covered the damage with a few of the awful rugs; there was not much else he could do about them, he’d just have to hope no one noticed or if they did, hope they blamed someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, and the cases were a little damp, so he did his best to dry them with his sleeve, before giving up and just shutting the door.

  
  


It was a lot quieter inside with the door closed, and the faint smell of old, dry paper and tea leaves could be tasted on the air. Martin strained his ears, trying to listen out for the sound of people. The silence was really starting to bother him. Surely someone should have noticed him by now? It wasn’t like he had been trying to be quiet while lumping his cargo indoors, and usuall y people were quick to notice and condemn unnecessary noise in his hometown, and he doubted it would be much different in a library of all places.

  
  


Perhaps, he wondered, he had brought some aspect of the Lonely with him? The silence was certainly familiar if not pleasant, and the empty room did remind him a little of home, all quiet stacks of poetry books and soft woollen bed sheets. But he brushed that thought off as quickly as it came. He didn’t have the constitution to fully commit himself to the Lonely. He enjoyed the company of people too much and had always refused to live alone, much to his mother's dismay. Fog didn’t follow him like it did her.

  
  


From where he was standing he could see two doors leading out of the room; one to his right and one to his left. He flipped a mental coin and chose the right door, following it through into a room almost identical to the last. Different rugs, same small table, same incalculable number of books.

  
  


With some trepidation he stuck his head back into the first room, and jumped a foot when the front door he had first entered through simply slipped out of view. He marched over to the dark wooden wall where the door once was. It was seamless, no sign that an exit had ever been there.

  
  


Breathing hard he spun around, and almost leap out of his skin when he saw another man striding towards him.

  
  


He was tall and thin, and walked with his back straight and his shoulders stiff like an old distinguished professor, half moon glasses perched on his sharp nose and all. His dark hair was peppered with thin greys that gathered around his temples, and tidied away in a messy, misshapen bun that looked as if he had slept with it that way and forgotten to fix it come morning. "Thank goodness," the man said as he approached, coming to a precise stop a few feet from Martin, "you wouldn't be able to tell me where the main foyer is, would you?"

  
  


"Errr," Martin was a little lost for words, "no, I'm afraid not. I just got here. The door disappeared…" 

  
  


"Ah, yes they will do that," the other man nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world, "this place wasn't built by us sadly. It has some leftover quirks".

  
  


"Right..." Martin had never felt less sure in his life. "I-I'm here to deliver a package? Packages? A scholar ordered them?"

  
  


"Then you need the main foyer as well."

  
  


"Yes? You don't happen to know where that is, do you?"

  
  


"Usually I would, but I erm, got turned around. This place is quite extensive." The man coughed a little awkwardly and pushed up his glasses, looking for all the world embarrassed though Martin couldn’t tell what for.

  
  


"Would- would you like to search for it together?" Martin offered without thinking, still unwilling to lose the first friendly face he’d seen since arriving.

  
  


"Yes, I think that would be for the best," the man agreed, brightening a little. "This way?" He pointed towards the left door. 

  
  


"Yes, em, the errr, the boxes?" Martin indicated the heap still sat beside him. "What should I do with them?"

  
  


"Oh, just leave them there. Our host will be able to find them." The man was already walking off towards the left hand door, tossing the suggestion casually over his shoulder.

  
  


Martin ran to catch up, settling into pace beside him and stealing a glance back at the crates, "My luggage is also there…"

  
  


"Are there books in there?"

  
  


"Wha- yes?"

  
  


"Then we'll be able to find them. Books don't get lost in here like people do."

  
  


Martin stared at the man, his confusion gradually being replaced with creeping realisation. Carefully he asked, "When did you get here?"

  
  


"Oh I've lived here my whole life," the man smiled a little as he said that. His whole face seemed to soften as he did, and Martin felt his chest tighten.

  
  


"And you don't know your way to the foyer?"

  
  


"As I said, this place defies many things. You arrived here from the Lonely Bay, didn't you?"

  
  


The words had left Martin's mouth before he even realised it, "Yes, I live with my mother just outside Port Town, a few miles from the coast. I write poetry and bind books."

  
  


"Never was a fan of poetry, too sweet," the man said airily before adding, "My name is Jonathan Sims. You may call me Jon."

  
  


Oh shit. “Nice to meet you Jon. My name’s Martin Blackwood”.

  
  


Jon smiled and nodded, “That’s a good name. Do you know why dragons take names, Martin Blackwood?” he asked with just a hint of smugness.

  
  


Martin felt his face redden as Jon said his name. “I err-” he flinched a little as Jon looked his way, “I heard humans taught them names…”

  
  


Jon's eyes went wide in pleasant surprise, “Yes! Dragons had no names till humans taught them that power. Before that we simply had titles, or nothing, depending on who you were and what you did. Titles were earned see, and not everyone could have a title.”

  
  


“Do you have a title?” Martin asked tentatively. He wasn’t sure if that was something he even should be asking. 

  
  


“Yes, of sorts. I am The-Archivist-To-Be. I’m still in training.” Jon added sheepishly.

  
  


They were a couple rooms in at this point. Martin couldn’t even remember the directions they had taken, so similar was each room from the next. They could have been going in circles for all he could tell, in fact- there! He recognised that table, they had passed it before he was certain, its mesmerising pattern was etched into his mind. He opened his mouth to ask when Jon stopped abruptly at one of the bookcases, and started rifling through the books with sudden intent.

  
  


Instead he just said, “I’m afraid I don’t have any titles to share…”

  
  


“Would you like one?”

  
  


Martin frowned, suddenly unsure of how this would play out. “Errr, sure?”

  
  


Jon seemed to find what he was looking for, and carefully pried a paperbound book loose from the shelf, before holding it out to Martin, “How about Map-reader. I’m not so good with maps you see, not enough words.”

  
  


Martin could have almost broken down laughing. Instead he huffed in amusement and took the book from Jon, and started cycling through the pages, “Map-reader, yeah I can live with that.”

  
  


Jon’s sigh of relief was louder than anyone could have expected, “Thank you Martin.” he said with such sincerity that Martin couldn’t help but chuckle. After a few minutes he found the page he needed, and they were on their way.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


Reaching the main foyer became a lot simpler after that, though it still took an unreasonable amount of time. The Library was a lot larger than Martin had expected for one thing, standing up close to the main building and staring up at its spires was impressive all on its own, but inside the maze-like quality of it’s structure truly got a chance to shine. Even the map he was using was only the first in a series, the rest detailing the parts of the Library reserved for scholars and their apprentices, and so were not available for public use.

  
  


Jon had turned out to be a fountain of knowledge about the Library once you got him talking. He had spent several unprompted minutes filling Martin in on the Libraries history, from its construction by the talons of Spiral and its use as a castle, to its slow fall into neglect and disrepair, all the way to the Great Wars and days of carnage and its eventual gifting to the refugees of the Sightless Isle. “A new home for an old ally,” as Jon had put it.

  
  


In all honesty Martin hadn’t been paying much attention, choosing instead to focus on the map and simply enjoying the company of another person. And Jon certainly was reasonable enough company, especially after several days of travelling alone with a silent driver. At the very least his constant info-dumping was good background noise, and Martin had to admit that the little hand gestures he did whenever he got particularly excited about something were quite endearing. 

  
  


He did have an air about him though. The creeping feeling that perhaps he knew more about Martin than he let on, which wasn’t all that surprising for someone who was almost certainly a scholar. He didn’t need to say anything, Martin recognised it in the eerie trickle of sweat down his spine, and the faint metallic taste at the roof of his mouth that just wouldn’t go away. It was the feeling you got when close to something intensely magical.

  
  


The dragons of the Lonely Bay were similar in a lot of ways. They had the same tracking eyes and overwhelming presence, but they were always distant and spoke very little, preferring to be alone and hunting on the windswept shoreline, gliding on wings as thin as fog. A few had bought books from him in the past, and they never stayed longer than strictly necessary.

  
  


Jon on the other hand seemed to be enjoying the company as much as Martin was, and by the time they had reached the main foyer he was genuinely sad to see him go. Jon had thanked Martin profusely and then disappeared down a corridor that wasn’t there the moment Martin blinked, leaving him alone once again. A younger man with black hair then directed him towards his room, where he found his luggage was already waiting for him inside.

  
  


Sitting down at the desk of what was clearly meant to be a students room, Martin slipped some parchment out of his rucksack and started writing. He hadn’t kept a diary in years, but somehow he didn’t want to risk forgetting a moment of today, it felt too important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. I haven't published a multi-chapter fic in years, tbh I'm a little nervous. Let me know what you think, and how you like the world building so far. I've got so much planned, and chapter 2 is already finished, so hopefully weekly updates.
> 
> Have a lovely day~


	2. Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might of noticed that I've been bumming around with the settings and formatting a whole bunch, and condensed four chapters into two. Most of this is because I've been tweaking the plot and actually coming up with a story arc for this, and wanted to neaten up everything before I went ahead and posted the next chapter which is where shit starts to get interesting. It's nearly done now, and I think I've finally got the word format in order which is nice. No more uneven number of spaces between paragraphs from chapter to chapter, hurray!
> 
> On a side note I drew [Dragon!Jon](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/c5d261e2-58f0-4db0-b9d9-a73b5cc79553/de30s0j-66f88f52-45d9-4754-88cc-78ce6d6f7e96.jpg/v1/fill/w_1024,h_706,q_75,strp/dragon_jon_by_icestormtundra_de30s0j-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3siaGVpZ2h0IjoiPD03MDYiLCJwYXRoIjoiXC9mXC9jNWQyNjFlMi01OGYwLTRkYjAtYjlkOS1hNzNiNWNjNzk1NTNcL2RlMzBzMGotNjZmODhmNTItNDVkOS00NzU0LTg4Y2MtNzhjZTZkNmY3ZTk2LmpwZyIsIndpZHRoIjoiPD0xMDI0In1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.Sh-ZIjQdSHLhlc6sJ_ajVUGSlCDby_cOaQS0giu6Zcw). I may draw more as time goes on and as work allows. I have like, three jobs all in all? And I'm in a podcast? I don't have a lot of time sadly, but I do want to keep this going. All comments and kudos and shit are appreciated so much, thanks for bearing with me.
> 
> -Rowan

From the moment Basira awoke and saw the sunlight streaming in through the gap in her curtains, she knew she was in for a rough day. She was lying on her bed still wearing her clothes from the night before, with her feet kicked up on the pillow and her face squished into the footboard. The covers had been pulled off of her sometime during the night, and were now heaped on top of Daisy who was lying next to her snoring away in an unceremonious lump, with only a tuft of chestnut hair visible from below the quilted mound.

  
  


Sunlight lit up her room in a golden glow, stabbing tiny daggers of pain right through Basira's skull until she could feel her pulse throbbing at the back of her eyelids. Groaning she slung her arm over her eyes and rolled over so she had her back to the window. She could swear a gymnast was doing flips in her stomach, and her mouth was drier than the Lightless Desert. Just how much did she drink last night?!

  
  


She couldn't remember much of what happened after they'd reached the third bar on Daisy's planned route through the city's finest watering holes. There had been a fight, she thought without certainty. Daisy had slammed some poor soul into the pavement and they'd taken off running before the guards had arrived. Daisy had said something about getting food, and instead they'd drank a line of shots almost as long as the table they were sitting at, and then… nothing. 

  
  


She couldn't remember when or how they'd gotten home. But judging by the state they were in, it probably wasn't very long ago. 

  
  


With some effort Basira dragged herself out of bed and shuffled out the door to one of the shared bathrooms, before chucking up a good night's worth of alcoholic vomit in the sink basin. She stood there for a while, shivering and recovering from the shock of actually being sick (when was the last time that had happened?), her head swimming and forehead resting on the rim of the basin.

Once her stomach had settled enough that she'd stopped shaking, she spat furiously to get the taste out of her mouth. The acid burned her throat horribly, and she reached for a glass before filling it with water and downing the whole thing in a few parched gulps.

  
  


Resting by the sink for a moment she looked up at her ragged reflection in the mirror and decided to splash some water into her face. It didn't do much good for the bruise-dark circles under her eyes, or the terrible bed hair, but she did feel a little more awake, which was about the best she could hope for today. Refilling her glass and taking a couple restrained sips, she headed back into her room.

  
  


Daisy was still asleep under her mountain of quilts, snoring softly. Gently Basira reached over and shook the top of the mound, her voice croaking something awful as she said, "Time to wake up Daisy."

  
  


There was a soft groan from somewhere under the quilts, and the top of Daisys head peaked up over the edge, squinting in the morning light. "Urgh, God's above my head. What time is it?"

  
  


"Late morning, at a guess," Basira replied hoarsely, taking another sip of water from her glass before continuing, "How are you feeling?"

  
  


"Like a fucking dragon is sitting on my skull," Daisy grumbled in reply, dragging the quilts up over her face again with a moan. There was a moment of pause, before a dry wheezing laughter could be heard from under the covers, "Heh, you woke up late."

  
  


"Shut up," Basira chortled, giving the mound of quilts a friendly punch, before adding, "Don’t you have work today?"

  
  


"That's a problem for future Daisy."

  
  


"Well, would future Daisy like some breakfast before she's butchered by her partner for turning up late?"

  
  


"If you're offering." Daisy peaked her head back out of the mound, rubbing her eyes furiously. "I wouldn't mind a coffee either."

  
  


"Hmm, I'll see what I can do." Basira stood up and yawned long and hard, adding with some amusement, "I think we could both do with a coffee."

  
  


"Best way to cure a hangover!"

  
  


"I'm pretty sure that's water."

  
  


"Nah, water's for quitters."

  
  


"If you say so." Basira knew better than to push the point. Instead, she stretched out her stiff muscles and wandered over to the door, pausing just before opening it to steal a glance back at Daisy still bundled up under the sheets. A small smile creeped onto her face and she turned the knob and stepped out into the corridor. 

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


The walk down to the dining rooms and kitchens took her through hallway after hallway of student rooms and shared bathrooms. The vast majority were uninhabited; as publishing novel material for the Library became ever harder, less and less students enrolled. Basira hadn't seen a new student in over a year.

  
  


All final projects had to be of real use to the Library, and as such had to be completely unique. This was probably a lot easier when the Library was new and its collection was not quite so sprawling. But these days finding a gap in the Library's knowledge was a more difficult task than most.

  
  


It had seemed like a godsend when Basira first found that no one had mapped her hometown. She had grown up on those streets and knew them like the back of her hand, or so she had thought. An easy addition to the Library, and a guaranteed graduation. 

  
  


But the deadline for her final project was fast approaching now and as much as she hated to admit it, her resolve was slipping. The pressure was on to get her map finished, and for the first time in three years, she wasn't certain she'd pass, especially now with a hangover to contend with.

  
  


But, she thought hopefully, she'd already done most of the heavy lifting for her project; creating the sigils she needed to make the map change whenever the city's layout did, those had taken most of her second year to perfect! Once she'd implemented them into the map, inking the rest would be a walk in the park. A long walk in the park, but nothing too taxing. She could print on the sigils this morning, and spend the rest of her day necking water and maybe making a start on the inking, if her hangover let up enough to concentrate. The north side of the town wasn't as convoluted as the rest of the city, she would start there and work her way down, that way the ink wouldn't smear on her hand as she drew. It was a good plan, all things considered, and she was confident she could pull it off. But first things first, tackle the hangover. Get food. Get coffee. Drink water. She could do this. 

  
  


Honestly, planning ahead wasn't a skill she usually possessed. Her main line of action had always been to work as hard as she could every day until she felt accomplished in whatever she was doing. And for most of her life that had been good enough, hard work almost always paid off in the end in some way or another, and sticking to a plan was nice in concept but… well they rarely worked out as planned. But since she'd begun her studies she'd quickly learnt that no plan often meant falling behind, and so these days she made an effort to keep to them.

  
  


Rounding the next corner she noticed a man she'd never met before, standing in the hallway with his back to her, scratching his head. That threw her off guard, human visitors to the Library were rare enough, the ones that did visit were usually requested by the scholars themselves and stayed in more professional accommodation in the closed off portions of the Library. This man however looked as lost as a student on their first day, standing awkwardly in the corridor like he wasn't sure how he'd gotten there. With a twinge of pity she sighed and walked over. 

  
  


"Can I help you?"

  
  


The man visibly jumped when she asked, and looked at her a little alarmed. She probably did look a little rough, she thought with a grimace, if her reflection had been anything to go by. "Yeah, urm, I'm looking for the kitchen? Or canteen? Or y'know, a place to make some tea? I've been looking for one for a couple hours now, I err, I got a bit lost..."

  
  


"Sounds about right. Come on, I'm heading there now." She nodded and set off at a relatively slow pace, down the corridor and up a flight of stairs to the left. The other man quickly followed along close behind.

  
  


"Oh! Em, thank you. My name's Martin by the way, I'm staying here for a few weeks, did some work for a scholar. I didn't sneak in or anything!" He said as they walked. 

  
  


"Mmhmm. I guessed. You wouldn't be able to sneak in anyway, the walls are sealed against thieves."

  
  


"Oh! Oh right… sorry, erm…."

  
  


"It's alright." With her headache still thumping away it was far less than alright, "the kitchen is just through here." She opened a large dark paneled door, a puff of steamy air disapperated revealing a perfectly circular room inside.

  
  


Cream and brown tiles lined the walls, and a wide array of shelves and cupboards bordered the room, all filled to bursting with cutlery and ingredients. In the centre stood a circular countertop; chopping boards, racks of knives and yet more ingredients scattered its surface where regulars liked to prepare meals. At the far wall a fire roared in a pristine white marble fireplace, lighting up the room in a deep orange glow. The heat hit Basira like a wave as she stepped inside, crisping the hair on her face and hands and making the pulse pound horribly at her temple, and she took a moment to rest by the doorway before entering.

  
  


Blackened kettles hung over the fire, steam rising from their spouts in unison like a chorus line. Frying pans and pots were hung from hooks on the walls, and shelves were stacked high with enough crockery to serve a feast to the entire city, most of which looked like they hadn’t been used for a very long time.

  
  


Martin wandered past her and headed over to the kettles, grabbing a teacup and saucer along the way from one of the shelves. Over his shoulder he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea? I'm making."

  
  


Basira blinked in surprise. "Two coffee's, if you wouldn't mind?"

  
  


"Coming right up," Martin slipped two extra cups alongside his own, filling a strainer with tea leaves and popping it inside the first one. Then, with practiced grace, set about grinding down a few teaspoons of coffee beans in a mortar and pestle and filling the percolator.

  
  


"Toast?" Basira asked simply as she walked over to her usual spot on the counter. There was a deep gash in the dark wood left there by Daisy in her first year, not too long after they'd met. They'd been experimenting with the Libraries self cleaning magic, or so the excuse was: turns out it didn't extend to property damage. She moved the chopping board back over to cover it.

  
  


"Oh, yes please, if you're offering," Martin didn't turn around, keeping his focus on the boiling water he was now pouring from the kettle. Steam rose merrily from the cups, twisting into strange corkscrews as they faded away. 

  
  


Basira just nodded and took her time slicing some bread and placing them on a wire rack suspended over the fire to toast, the smell of which quickly began to waft throughout the room. “Are you enjoying your visit?” She asked out of politeness.

  
  


“Err, yes, thank you. I mean I wish I wouldn’t keep getting lost every time I leave my room...”

  
  


"You are in the Twisting City," Basira commented, unable to keep the sarcasm from trickling into her voice, "it's not called that for its fine selection of cheese pastries."

  
  


"Well I know that," Martin huffed, a little dramatically. “I mean, this place is beautiful, and I wish I could explore it more without, you know...”

  
  


“It does get easier,” Basira assured him, “I got lost all the time when I first moved here.”

  
  


“And when was that? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  
  


“Three years ago.” She could still remember it clearly, walking in through the front door for the first time and just staring up at the ceiling, thinking it must have been as far away as the sky. “I’m a student here, final year.”

  
  


Martin gave a shaky sigh of relief, “Must be amazing living in a place like this.”

  
  


Basira hummed in agreement, and using a thick cloth swiped the toast from the rack and propped them up to cool. “And yourself?”

  
  


“Oh I’ve lived in the Loney Bay all my life; this little hamlet a few miles from Port Town. It doesn’t have a name, most places up there don’t. Makes getting hold of your post a little difficult. When I finally got the order for the scholar ready for transport I had to pay an ox cart for travel, since none of the postmen who actually knew our address were willing to do the trip. That’s why I’m staying down here I think, some kind of extended payment.”

  
  


Basira chuckled in amusement, “And let me guess, was it books?”

  
  


“Bang on the money. I mean, really, what else would it be.”

  
  


“Scrolls, maybe? We have quite a lot of those.”

  
  


“Yeah, and maps I guess.”

  
  


Basira groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her headache cramp back up, “Gods don’t talk to me about maps please, I’ve seen enough maps to last me a lifetime.”

  
  


“I can believe it, in a place like this.” Martin set two cups of coffee on the chopping board beside her with a careful clink, “Here you go, I didn’t add any milk or sugar yet, thought it’d be best to leave that up to you.”

  
  


“Thank you, “ Basira cupped her hands around one of them, feeling the warmth slowly sink into her fingers, “Toast is just there, and the butter-”

  
  


The door to the kitchen suddenly creaked open, letting in a refreshing blast of cool air. Standing in the doorway was Gerry, dressed head to toe black and his hair hanging low over his face like a corporeal shade. Unlike a shade however he was breathing heavily from exertion, and moved to lean against the doorframe to catch his breath.

  
  


"Gerry,” Basira was on her feet in an instant, “What's wrong?"

  
  


"Nothing's wrong,” Gerry wiped his brow with his sleeve and gave the fireplace the evil eye, “Was just looking for you, Daisy said you’d be here. I would like your help with something.”

  
  


There was something about the way Gerrys eyes twinkled in the firelight, like he was barely holding back his excitement, that made Basira grab the mugs on the table and the plate full of toast she had been preparing in an instant. Moving as if compelled, she gave Martin a polite nod and slipped past Gerry into the corridor. “Lead the way, I just need to bring these back to my room first.”

  
  


Gerry followed her out and took the lead with long easy strides, his black coat billowing out behind him, “I’ll explain on the way.” 

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


Spiral staircases could go and burn in dragon fire, Basira thought as she dragged herself up the tower one painful step at a time, swearing bitterly under her breath. Her headache was still thumping horribly alongside her heartbeat, and the dizzying climb was doing something awful to her sense of balance. Grasping the rail tightly to steady herself, she shot a glare at the black leather coat gliding along in front of her without a care in the world. Of course Gerry was used to clambering up to his mentors office, it made sense that the climb wasn't killing him like it was Basira, but did he have to look so smug about it?!

  
  


Forcing herself onwards, she concentrated her gaze directly on the stone steps at her feet. The rock was grey and worn smooth down the centre from the wear of countless feet over the centuries, making it almost reflective in the dim, greenish light. Firefly lamps hung from the rough stone walls, their brass handles creaking lightly as she passed.

  
  


Gerry was just ahead of her, taking two steps at a time and humming gently under his breath to a song she didn't recognise. In all her years at the Library, Basira had never seen him so excited about anything, and it was the cause of much concern and curiosity on her part. Whatever him and his mentor had been working on, he seemed confident that her input was crucial. She just hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself in the process.

  
  


She had managed to discern from Gerry's excited ramblings that something had been discovered misfiled in the Library Archives, that could be integral to an ongoing project he and his mentor had been working on. What it was that they had actually found had gone unsaid, as had the project itself or who was working on it (though she could make a good educated guess at the latter). It made her wonder just what they needed help with that a whole team of scholars and their apprentices couldn't accomplish on their own, and why Gerry had chosen her help over another scholar...

  
  


Finally the top of the staircase came into view. Gerry stopped at the door and turned to face Basira, waiting for her to catch up before he spoke. "Do you wanna catch your breath before we go in?" He asked.

  
  


Too winded to respond Basira nodded and collapsed back against the wall, gasping like a fish out of water, her legs trembling from the effort of staying upright. When she had recovered enough to speak, she replied, "You could have at least told me about the stairs."

  
  


"What? And put you off visiting the dragon quarters entirely?" Gerry smirked and poked her on the shoulder, "You'll have to get used to the climb if you want to work with the scholars, they like to be high up I think. They seem to enjoy the view."

  
  


"Right, of course they do..." Basira sighed and sat down on the topmost step, rubbing the space between her eyes tiredly. There was a whisper of cloth as Gerry plonked himself down beside her with a small grunt. Reaching inside his cloak he pulled out a crumpled cigarette and a lighter, clicking the wheel till a flame sparked, and lighting the roll-up with a flourish.

  
  


Basira wrinkled her nose at the smell, "Can't you wait to do that by a window?"

  
  


"No fire allowed in the Archives unfortunately. It's a shame, there's a few statements in there I would be more than happy to see burn." Gerry said with a shrug, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth as he spoke. "You ever seen a dragon before?"

  
  


"Not that I know of for certain."

  
  


"Trust me, you'd know if you met one," He took another long drag of his cigarette and flicked the ash carelessly onto the floor, "Don't introduce yourself until they do. You don't want them to have that kind of power over you."

  
  


Basira nodded knowingly, "I am aware. You still haven't told me what you actually want me to do though…"

  
  


"Just take a look at the stuff we found and tell 'em what you think."

  
  


Basira pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, "Yes but you haven't even said what it is. I don't understand how I'm supposed to help when I don't know what I'll be looking at!"

  
  


"You'll know," Gerry replied cryptically, blowing out a long spiral of cigarette smoke, "I can explain more later, but for now I need you to just trust me, ok?"

  
  


"That doesn't bode well for either of us."

  
  


"No, it really doesn't." He smiled and stood back up, crumpling the butt of the cigarette under his boot, "Ready to go in?"

  
  


'Not in the slightest.' Basira thought as she nodded and stood up to join him, her legs turning to jelly underneath her as he turned the brass knob and opened the small wooden door. Taking a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in her stomach, she followed him through into the dragon quarters of the Great Library.

  
  


They walked out onto a small balcony, overlooking an enormous open room lined from floor to ceiling with groaning bookcases over a hundred meters high. The dark wood gleamed in the light of a thousand firefly lanterns, and the supporting white marble pillars arched into towering frames like the branches of redwood trees, holding up a huge domed ceiling painted in a dizzying array of colours and fractals. There were enormous brass ladders propped up on rails and wheels on their feet so they could be slid from shelf to shelf, and small spiral staircases which led up to narrow walkways along the alcoves where the ladders couldn't reach. The air tasted of iron and old paper and leather, and was sweet as honey on Basira's tongue. She was here, she was finally here!

  
  


Basira walked over to the railing and leaned out over the edge. The floor was a hundred feet below her, and she felt a sickening swoop of vertigo and awe. From her vantage point she could see tables on the floor stacked high with loose papers and scrolls, ink sets, and strange machinery that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. The dark wood floor was polished, but still bore the scratches from centuries of dragon talons walking down these very halls.

  
  


Her head swam with the sheer scale of the place like it never had before, and the temptation to run down and start rifling through the tomes ran hot through her veins. There was so much here to read! More than she could have ever imagined. The expanse of the main foyer was a paddling pool compared to the ocean in front of her, and it was a dream come true.

  
  


Whipping back around to Gerry, and seeing him leaning back against the wall watching her with an amused expression, she couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, all memory of her hangover forgotten in the excitement. "Am I allowed to go down and take a look?" She asked, struggling to keep her hands still.

  
  


"We'll have to go on the walkway to reach the Archives," Gerry said, pointing to a narrow, railed walkway that branched from the balcony around the perimeter of the room until it turned a corner and was out of sight, "Best to stick to the walls 'round here, don't want to get trampled."

  
  


Basiras eyes went wide, "Is that... likely? to happen?"

  
  


"Well, no? I don't think I've ever even seen a scholar running, but… now I think about it, she might have just been messing with me…" Gerry trailed off, his expression thoughtful and a little perturbed. Unsure what so say, Basira wandered over to the walkway and tapped the railing to get his attention. "Lead the way?" She asked.

  
  


"Yes err, of course," Gerry recovered quickly and took the lead in a couple of strides, setting off at a decent pace down the walkway with Basira a few steps behind, "It's not far, the staircase to the basement is at the end of the hall."

  
  


“Wait, If the archives are in the basement, why on earth did we climb up a tower's worth of stairs?”

  
  


“I thought you’d like to see more of the Library.”

  
  


“Gerry!”

  
  


“I’m kidding! But this is the only way for apprentices to enter the dragon quarters. The other entrances are hidden and, well I don’t think they’d appreciate us trying to find them.”

  
  


Basira frowned thoughtfully, “That implies that others can.”

  
  


“I think the researchers have access,” Gerry shrugged, “Tim’s in here a lot at least. Never really asked.”

  
  


“Timothy Stoker? Didn’t he leave for a field trip to the Masked Lands?”

  
  


“Got back a week ago. Haven’t you seen him in class?”

  
  


“I don’t have classes at the moment, I’m on study leave to finish off my final project.”

  
  


"Fair enough. He’s been down in the Archives with us, working on a few things.”

  
  


Basira pursed her lips, “Are you ever going to tell me what?"

"Later." Gerry stopped abruptly outside another wooden door, halfway down the walkway and close to the back of the room. 

  
  


Now that was odd. Gerry was usually upfront if he couldn't speak of things shared with him by his mentor in confidence. In fact, it was an unspoken rule that everything a dragon tells you in private must remain so, unless stated otherwise. But dodging the question entirely when it only concerned a human professor? That was unlike him. Whatever the Archives staff were working on, it was enough of a secret that Gerry couldn't speak about it publicly. It didn't help narrow down what they needed Basira for in the first place, but it did mean she'd have to step carefully. The last thing she wanted was for this opportunity to blow up in her face and risk losing any chance of an apprenticeship, or something far, far worse...

  
  


Rummaging in his pockets he pulled out a brass key and shook off the pocket fluff, littering the floor with balls of soft grey fuzz and stale crumbs, before sliding it into the lock and turning it clockwise. The door clunked and he pushed it open with his toe while re-pocketing the key, "After you."

  
  


Basira peered inside the door and stepped cautiously over the threshold. It was similar to the staircase they had climbed before, but this time the stairs led downwards in a straight line towards the left, and the steps were rough indicating they were less frequently used. Stealing a glance back at Gerry and seeing his nod of confirmation, she stepped down onto the first one, feeling the air chill considerably as she slowly descended down the old staircase, Gerry following close behind.

There were less lamps down here, and the cold air seemed to disagree with the ones that were in place. The fireflies inside were sluggish and dim, and stayed clustered together at the bottom of the lamps, making the hallway uncharacteristically quiet. Basira hadn't realised just how accustomed to the buzzing of firefly lamps she had become, and forced down a small, uneasy shudder. The air was dry and musty, and the railings had a thin layer of dust that clung to the sweat on her palm as she held it. This felt like more than the regular chill of a basement, the tang of iron on the air was even stronger down here, and out of the corner of her eye she could see tiny sigils carved into the stone, perhaps made with a chisel, that disappeared whenever she tried to look at one more directly. Perhaps this stairwell had been built more recently, she thought, eyeing the cobwebs that hung above her, and the magic that kept the rest of the Library clean hadn't been extended to here yet? Or it could be the byproduct of the sigils becoming cluttered, cancelling out some of the effects?

  
  


She considered asking Gerry about it, but as she did so the bottom of the stairwell came into view, as did another small wooden door. This one had no knob, and it sat slightly ajar letting light spill into the stairwell from the room that lay beyond. Putting her thoughts on the stairwell to one side and making a mental note to quiz Gerry on it later, she pushed the door open and stepped through.

  
  


The first thing she noticed was the clutter; the walls were barely visible behind a jumble of cardboard boxes, all filled to the brim with loose documents and papers. There must have been hundreds scattered throughout the room, all piled on top of each other with no regard for care nor reason. Looking around she noticed that most of them were unlabelled, and the ones that were were almost unintelligible, sporting names such as '25-42-B', and didn't match any filling system Basira was aware of.

  
  


Above the boxes were rows upon rows of dark wood shelves, less arranged with books and more heaped with them. Scrolls were squashed beneath hefty historical tomes bound in dark red leather, and paperbacks were crammed into every nook and cranny. There was no order to any of it, and the inconsistency by which it clashed with the rest of the Library was deeply jarring. It felt to Basira, almost intentional, like a protest against the beautifully organised collection it was forced to be compared to. 

  
  


Gerry entered the room and sauntered past her, weaving through the maze of boxes effortlessly and beckoning her to follow. She did so as quickly as she could manage without crushing any of the papers underfoot, stumbling over boxes and stacks of books in her hurry to keep up.

  
  


They made their way through the archives until they reached a large wooden door, on which was a brass plaque with the words 'Head Archivist" engraved in flowing italics. Gerry knocked and waited a moment before entering, holding the door open for Basira as she slipped inside. 

  
  


It was much the same as any other office she had seen, but far larger in scale. There was a huge wooden desk, and yet more boxes left in a mess around the edges of the room- seriously did no one here ever clean? But all the clutter in the world couldn't avert her eyes from the tall serpentine figure sitting beside the desk, book in her talons, a single claw hooked under the corner of the page she was about to turn.

  
  


The dragon looked up as they entered, soft feathery antenna unfurling as she slipped a bookmark into place and set the book down on the desk. Her smooth scales shone like polished copper in the lantern light, and a fuzzy coat of creamy fur covered her chest and spilled down along the length of her spine, ending in a thick plume on the end of her tail. Antlers branched up from her forehead, and her long deer-like ears pricked as Gerry called out a greeting. She stretched her neck out towards him, her wings unfurling just enough to reveal large green eyespots at their centre. 

  
  


_ "Hello Gerry, is this your friend?" _

  
  


Basira felt her mouth go dry. The dragon hadn’t moved her lips but the words rang clearly in her head, the tang of iron tingling sharply on her tongue and the air pulsing at each intonation. Her voice, if it could even be referred to as that, was clear and well-spoken, with a friendly, chipper tone that instantly made Basira feel more welcome. Hardly daring to meet her gaze, Basira gave a weak smile, and much to her surprise the dragon smiled back, her eyes crinkling up in pleasant little starbursts, though her mouth still didn't move an inch. 

  
  


There was a soft rustle of papers and bending cardboard as Gerry plonked himself down on one of the larger boxes next to the desk with a heavy grunt. Turning to the dragon he replied, "Who else would I be bringing?"

  
  


_ "I was only asking." _ The dragon's eyes went wide in mock offence, her quivering antenna giving away her amusement like laughter. Turning back to Basira she spoke with a careful clarity,  _ "My name is Sasha James. I am an Archival Assistant, here in the Great Library." _

  
  


With her mouth so dry it felt like her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and it took a moment before Basira was able to respond, "Pleased to meet you, I'm Basira Hussain." 

  
  


_ "It's lovely to meet you too," _ Sasha reached her neck forward and leaned down so she was eye level with her, the tip of her deer-like nose only a few hand lengths away. This close Basira could see the soft velvet on her snout, and the bright green of her pupil shining brightly against her steel grey iris.  _ "Are you a student here? What is your project about?" _

  
  


Now this she was prepared for. With an excited smile Basira launched into her usual reply; "A map of the City of Welk and the geological formations below it. Because the city is constantly being rebuilt I've formulated my own sigils which will update the map in real time, so it should still be accurate centuries to come, and they could likely be used on other… more difficult maps with only minimal modification. It's been a headache, but I'm quite proud of it."

  
  


Sashas eyes went wider, and she looked at Basira with sudden keen interest,  _ "I can see why Gerry asked you to help us then. We found a map you see, but it's not got a title. It does however-" _

  
  


"Honestly Sasha. You? Breaching confidentiality like this? I'm astonished." A familiar voice quipped from the doorway. Everyone turned at once as the door creaked open and a tall (and in Basiras opinion, rather handsome) man stepped through, pushing the door open with his shoulder and cradling a huge box of papers in his arms. He shot a roguish grin towards the dragon, "What would our Archivist have to say?"

  
  


Sashas ears twitched.  _ "She would tell you to stop wool-gathering and get on with your work, that's what," _ She quipped back, her tone light and airy and her antenna quivering.  _ "And good morning to you too, Tim. It's nice to see you today." _

  
  


"Oh, we're on first name terms now are we?" Professor Stoker's grin grew even wider as he set the box down on the floor beside the table.

  
  


Basira never thought she'd see a dragon roll her eyes so hard they almost swiveled out of their sockets, but like the rest of the Library, the Archives staff continued to surprise her. Not that Professor Stokers attitude was a surprise, on the contrary she was rather used to his laid back attitude and unique approach to lectures (primarily focused on the architecture of Robert Smirk and the similarities it shared with draconic structures, but dabbling in many other topics as well) though it was odd to see him outside of his office, dressed casually in a brightly coloured robe that looked more like a costume than anything a professor would wear to work. 

  
  


Politely she dipped her head towards him, "Good morning Professor Stoker."

  
  


"Good morning Basira," he chimed back, resting easily against the desk, "And just Tim, please, this is the Archives after all."

  
  


"If you say so." She agreed with a small nod, trying not to let her nervousness show, “How was your field trip?”   
  
  


“About as horrifying as you’d expect really,” Professor Stoker, no, Tim waved his hand vaguely in the air, “Mannequins, circuses, strange wiggling piles of skin on the floor, everything you’d expect from the Stranger. I did manage to get my paws on this the other day…” He slipped a book from his cloak onto the table, sliding it across towards Gerry, “Thought you might like it.”

  
  


“The Seven Lamps of Architecture?” Gerry flipped the cover open and stared at the sticker adorning the first page, “Powers be Tim, this is from Lietners library!”

  
  


“I know” Tim was grinning from ear to ear, “According to the person I acquired it from, it reacts very interestingly to Smirks buildings. Care to test it out later?”

  
  


_ “Don’t you dare,” _ Sasha butted in, sweeping a talon across the table and carefully closing the book, cutting off Gerrys response,  _ “We have no idea what it does.” _

  
  


“Sasha, dearest, don’t you want to know.” Tims tone was teasing yet laced with an underlying tension. Basira peered over Sashas still outreached talon, trying to get a glimpse of the book in question. She hadn’t heard of Lietner before, but the ripple of interest that had swept the room once the name was mentioned definitely sparked her curiosity. The book didn’t look too sinister with it’s faded and dog-eared pages, but that didn’t mean much when dragon-touched artifacts were concerned.

  
  


Sasha was still speaking;  _ “Of course I do, but I’m not going to let you and Gerry go and get yourselves killed messing around with things we don’t yet understand.” _ Her eyes crinkled up in a warm smile,  _ “That’s why I'm coming with you.” _

  
  


The effect was immediate. Tim let loose a whoop of success and swung an arm around the dragons shoulders, shaking her back and forth and causing Basira to nearly topple over in surprise, “YES! Archives gang, on the trail of a mystery once again! I’ve already got a few places in mind that could be veerryyy fun to mess around with- hold on I’ve got a list- '' He jumped back to his box of papers.

  
  


_ “What our Archivist doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” _ Sasha shrugged and lifted her talons, allowing Gerry to quietly slip the book into his own coat and out of view,  _ “But we should bring our Archivist-to-be along, it would be a good experience for him.” _

  
  


Tim froze for a moment as he realised just what Sasha had said, then sagged and turned back to face her, groaning noisily, “Why? He’ll just talk our ears off again, I’m still getting nightmares from the last time…”

  
  


_ “We might need his expertise. Besides, he’s never going to get a better grasp over his abilities if we don’t let him out of the LIbrary once in a while.” _

  
  


“To be fair he hasn’t gone a proper monologue in a while,” Gerry chimed in, leaning across the desk and absent-mindedly clicking his lighter on and off, “And push comes to shove we can just go back to our usual policy.”

  
  


“Since you’re both ganging up on me, fine, we can bring the ominous encyclopedia along. But he so much as utters a word about statements-”

  
  


_ “I’ll bundle him into a corner where you don’t have to listen.”  _ Sasha gave Tim a playful nudge,  _ “Thank you Tim.” _

  
  


“I’m doing this for the Lienter.”

  
  


_ “Of course,”  _ She pulled away, her eyes suddenly growing distant as if staring at something far away, _ “But we should head to the entrance now, our Archivist is on her way.” _

  
  


Gerry hopped quickly to his feet and motioned for Basira to do the same, smoothing down his coat as he did so in an attempt to hide the bulge where the book was hidden, “You’ll want to come see this Basira, but stick by the walls, the draft can get pretty hairy.”

  
  


“Dare I ask?” Basira questioned him as the group filed slowly out of the room.

  
  


"Well, there has to be a way for dragons to reach their own Archives right? Can't expect them to wear a human guise in their own home."

  
  


"Are you telling me the Head Archivist is flying down to the Archives?"

  
  


Gerry gave her a toothy grin, "My mentor is flying down to the Archives," At seeing her expression he gave her a light pat on the shoulder, "Don't worry, her bark is worse than her bite."


End file.
